


Old Town Road

by accioAvowal



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Depression, Drinking & Talking, Eliot's Dad Is An Evil Man And He Is Not Made To Look Good By Anyone, Established Relationship, F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Loss of Parent(s), M/M, Multi, None of the Angst is Relationship Based, Past Child Abuse, Past Domestic Violence, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:46:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23851780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/accioAvowal/pseuds/accioAvowal
Summary: Eliot's dad has died and Eliot has to decide what family means to him.Margo suggests they all piss on his grave.
Relationships: Margo Hanson & Eliot Waugh, Margo Hanson/Eliot Waugh, Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh, Quentin Coldwater/Margo Hanson/Eliot Waugh
Comments: 5
Kudos: 55





	Old Town Road

**Author's Note:**

> This isn't beta'ed and I am more known for art; so sorry for any mistakes!! LMK if you see any that are Bad or have other advice at all!!

Eliot held a gin and tonic as he made his way to his bed. He set it down on his nightstand as he fluffed his pillows before settling against them. He wasn’t going to bed, far from it, really. He was working on spending some much needed alone time to himself. He sighed as he let his eyes fall closed. Maybe this _was_ an excuse for a nap, the universe could sue him if it really wanted to.

It was quiet in Eliot’s room. Eliot had just narrowly escaped Margo’s eyes and ears. She had been trying to have Eliot join her for a ménage à trois with a hunky Illusion student, but Eliot opted out for tonight. He had claimed that he was too tired, which was true, but it was also because he needed the time alone. She had tried to force him, but she ended up relenting after several tries. He understood her need too, but he wasn’t her. They were two different people. No matter how often they were mistaken as one.

Eliot had barely lifted the drink to his lips when he heard the gentle knocks at his door. “Did your date not go well?” He asked the door, a smirk playing on his lips as he settled back against the headboard. “You may enter,” he clarified a little louder for the person beyond the door. He finally took his first sip of his gin and tonic.

Eliot’s bedroom door opened, almost timidly. _Not Margo,_ he noted, now sitting up a little straighter. Not too straight, he was still calm, but if this was someone he’d rather not have in his room… He heard a small noise that he nearly immediately recognized as a nervous Quentin from beyond the door. He relaxed against the pillows as Quentin stepped through the threshold cautiously. That explained the door opening so timidly, Quentin hadn't visited Eliot's bedroom before.

Eliot made an amused noise as he set his glass down on his nightstand and spoke to Quentin. “Coldwater? In _my bed_ room? What did I do to warrant such a bold move from you?” Eliot’s grin-like smirk spoke for how he felt about the floppy haired boy being in his room. He was fun to tease, and _delightful_ to look at.

Quentin’s cheeks did turn pink, _perfect_ , “this is _not_ a bold move!” He snipped as he closed the door behind him. He was holding some piece of paper in his hands, now that Eliot could get a better look at him.

“You sure?” Eliot asked as he pointed at the paper in Quentin’s hands. “Then I’m assuming that’s not a love letter? I’m a little disappointed, you would have earned _so_ many points.”

“Oh, _shut up,_ Eliot!” Quentin bit back, but he was smiling too. “No, you got a call or something.” He gestured with the paper. “They were looking for you, or Margo, but settled for me when they saw me.” He grimaced as he crossed the room as he spoke. He spoke faster than he moved across the room. He held the paper out to Eliot. He was nearly a foot away from Eliot’s bed, like he was afraid of it or something. Which...he maybe should be.

Eliot rolled his eyes, sat up and stretched dramatically to grab the paper. “It’s just a bed, you don’t have to be afraid of it.” He patted the bed, not even right next to him, he was trying to ease Quentin into the idea of sitting on it. Eliot leaned back into the pillows and headboard as he opened up the paper.

“That’s kind of a fucked up system though, right?” Quentin asked rhetorically as he did sit down, very gently, near Eliot’s feet. “Like, you’ve gotten some important news so we’ll send this Knowledge Student working for the Dean 3 days out of the week, with whatever information, life-altering, world-changing, whatever. It's only even folded. Not taped or stamped with like wax or anything, they could easily read it, and they may just stop at someone who knows you? They did it with me, by giving Alice the news about my dad, which I think she read by the way, which is a complete invasion of my privacy and should have been a red flag, but I was too — well I was preparing for Welters and didn’t want Margo to literally murder me, so I was concentrating on that, and maybe a little too hard, but I was really scared of her. Still am, actually, just to clarify,” Quentin's tangents were amazing to listen to as well. He was so passionate, and earnest when sharing his thoughts. Eliot loved listening to him.

But Eliot was also trying to read the telegram and it...wasn’t many words, but it was enough words that Eliot had to reread them after getting lost in Quentin’s tangent. Eliot held his hand up in a pause motion as he read the third time.

Quentin did pause, but not without looking at Eliot, concerned. “You alright?”

Eliot didn’t respond immediately. Reading it a fourth and final time: 

Ellie. I regret telling you, like this. I tried to call you, but your number wasn’t working. Your dad passed away the other day. We’re going to have the funeral next weekend. Trying to get the whole family together. You should come if your school will let you. Love you. Mom.

Eliot’s eyes didn’t rise to meet Quentin’s. “Get Margo. Please,” Eliot responded, as calmly as he could manage before reaching over and gulping down the remaining two thirds of his gin and tonic. If that wasn’t an answer to Quentin’s question then Eliot wasn’t sure what would answer it. “And,” he shoved the now empty glass at Quentin. “Refill. Anything. Hard.”

Quentin took the glass gingerly, and frowned at Eliot. He stood up though, and moved towards the door. He wanted to talk though, and kept opening his mouth to speak but closing it. He didn’t know what was going on so he had no words of comfort he could give to Eliot. He also wasn’t a toucher like Eliot was so he just had this sad look directed at Eliot before he left the room again. Helping Eliot with a refill and fetching Margo was enough, sweet boy.

When the door closed Eliot purposefully threw his head back against his headboard. He should be ecstatic to hear this. Really, he should. His father was awful. Cruel and abusive, and the literal scum of the earth. So why did he feel so...drained? Guilty? Was this grief? Was that what this knot in his stomach was?

Eliot rubbed his face with his hands. He sighed into them as he went over the telegram again in his head. Why did his mother even want him to come? He excommunicated himself before he even got into Brakebills. He gave them a fake number for a reason.

Plus she was still calling him Ellie? Of all things. Who the fuck was she fooling? Herself? His brothers? The neighborhood of Whiteland, Indiana? Him? Fucking Ellie. Who the fuck was that? Not Eliot. Not anymore. 

It felt like an eternity for Quentin to return with Margo. Eliot was literally so lost in his head and feelings he didn’t realize that they were both in his room until, according to Margo’s tone, the fifth time she had said his name. Her hands were on her hips and her face was in his space, too. Quentin had three glasses this time, and a couple bottles of wine. He was setting all of it on Eliot’s nightstand. Margo shoved another glass into his hands, whiskey, probably. Unknown origin, but the destination was his mouth, and he happily accepted it.

After a few drinks of the whiskey and with Eliot finally back to reality his first word was, “Bambi.” He smiled at her and sat up, taking the telegram from his lap and handing it off to her. “Just read this.”

As Margo took the piece of paper and read from it. Eliot watched as Quentin poured two hefty glasses of wine, and one mediocre glass of wine. He took the smaller one and moved to the other side of Eliot’s bed so that he could join Eliot and Margo on the bed, rather than lingering beside the bed. A warm presence next to Eliot right now was definitely not unwelcome.

**_“Fuck.”_ ** Margo said as she finished reading. Demanding Eliot’s gaze to move to her as he finished his sip. She looked at Eliot, her eyes full of sadness and in Margo fashion, anger too. “No wonder you weren’t into my earlier suggestion… _Fuck,_ Eliot _._ ” Margo frowned at Eliot. She sat down, nearly in his lap and reached for his free hand to hold it. “Do you know what you’re going to do?” 

“That’s why I wanted you,” Eliot breathed out a laugh. “I don’t know.” Decisions weren’t his favorite thing, and honestly he'd rather burn the telegram and forget this ever happened. _Mom? Mom who?_

Quentin was just watching the two of them and Eliot could tell he felt like a third wheel. “First,” Eliot set his glass down and reached that hand out to Quentin, who took it gently. Sweet boy. “Long story short, Q: My dad was not a good dad. He beat the shit out of me for a lot of shit he shouldn’t have.” He paused, letting Quentin’s brain catch up to his words. “He died. My mom is inviting me to the funeral.”

Quentin frowned and he opened his mouth to respond, but closed it. His eyebrows were furrowed and he was frowning. “Eliot,” He brushed his thumb on the back of Eliot’s hand that he was holding. “No matter what, it’s your decision.” Eliot could hear how unsure Quentin was of giving any input.

“I say don’t fucking do it, El.” Margo said in that way that sounded like she had just passed a law. “He hurt you in ways that could never redeem him. Dead or not.” 

Eliot nodded at her, and that was his gut instinct: not going. There was no reason to go. He literally estranged himself from his past for a reason.

“What about the rest of your family?” Quentin asked, quietly. Like he felt it was a forbidden question. “Were they…?” He didn’t need to finish the question for Eliot to understand the end of it.

“No, mostly, my brothers weren’t...like that. Yet. Mom was just...vacant.” Eliot sighed as he adjusted himself against the pillows. Trying to even talk about his feelings was a miracle. He required more of the whiskey for this. So Eliot slipped his hands away from theirs to grab the whiskey glass again. He took a needy gulp from it. “She cared, but...if it wasn’t me, it would be her. And we both knew it. Because she tried, sometimes.” It was difficult to talk about these things without feelings bubbling up and he felt the tears build up in his eyes that he did not want. “It’s,” he started and then stopped, saying this stuff delicately was also incredibly difficult. “Fine. Mom and I...she was the one I regretted leaving the most.” 

There was a shared silence after that and the emotions were filling up the room. “So yeah, I do want to go for her.” Even if she’s still calling me Ellie. It’s not malicious...she just, doesn’t know me anymore. I’ve changed a lot. I’m the one who left and didn’t try to stay in touch. 

Margo’s hand was on Eliot’s thigh, and she flexed her fingers gently. A pressure to help Eliot calm down a little bit. She understood Eliot’s touch language more than anyone else. It definitely helped because he finished off the whiskey again and pulled himself out of his head a little bit. Quentin was pressed against him in a way that even though he wasn’t using his hands to touch Eliot, it felt like enough on it’s own. Both of them were helping in their own ways.

Margo looked Eliot hard in the face. “Look.” She waited until Eliot was in fact looking at her before continuing. “ _If_ we were to go, our _actual goal_ . That we don’t tell them about, is to piss on his grave. _Got it_?”

That made Eliot laugh, a wet one, that was physical enough that he almost dropped the empty glass and spilled the wine Quentin had poured. “That, is the one thing he deserves.” He looked at his two best friends and sat up, much straighter than before, and nearly pulled Margo into him because she was in his lap. He raised his wine glass in between the three of them for a toast. “To pissing on my shit dad’s grave?”

Margo laughed and grabbed her wine glass, lifting it up to clink Eliot's. Quentin also grabbed his own, and followed suit. “Fuck your dad!" They all agreed before each taking a drink from their glasses.


End file.
